


all this and heaven too

by hyoidbone, IllustriousHam



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, F/F, There's a puppy, basically just gross domestic stuff like families
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 06:27:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3559505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyoidbone/pseuds/hyoidbone, https://archiveofourown.org/users/IllustriousHam/pseuds/IllustriousHam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke was drunk the night she suggested they get a pet together. She bellowed the idea like a child on Christmas Eve - "A puppy, Lexa!" - and Lexa quickly turned up her nose to the idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all this and heaven too

**Author's Note:**

> beta'd by my non-pal, caelzorah.

Clarke was drunk the night she suggested they get a pet together. She bellowed the idea like a child on Christmas Eve - "A puppy, Lexa!" - and Lexa quickly turned up her nose to the idea.

It is weeks before the topic was brought up again. Lexa isn't bothered - pets are hardly an interest, especially dogs - but she knows Clarke, and knows that the topic will resurface eventually. She spends most of that time researching cat breeds and readying herself for compromise. She is less than thrilled when, three weeks later, Clarke comes into the kitchen with a local magazine gripped between excited fingers.

“I’ve been looking at these for the last week or so and I think I found the one,” Clarke begins as Lexa looks up from the book she’s reading — 'Over the Edge of the World' by Lawrence Bergreen — and stares for a moment.

“What?”

“We talked about getting a puppy. Don’t tell me you forgot.”

“No,” Lexa says with caution, a shake of her head, “we didn’t talk about it. You fell on the couch, said ‘let’s get a puppy,’ then passed out. Again.”

“What? No, that’s not…” Clarke trails off with a slight tilt of her head. Obviously she doesn't remember the conversation in it's entirety and Lexa smirks, satisfied with herself. Clarke smiles and withdraws a little but Lexa reaches out and touches her arm. She neatly sets her book down before she leans back in her seat. “Do you not want to get one?”

“I never said that.”

Clarke lifts a brow and Lexa continues.

“What about a cat?” she begins, feeling her pockets for her phone. “I did some research on a few breeds and…” she trails off when Clarke looks less than amused.

“A cat,” Clarke states—and it’s a statement, Lexa knows, because she sounds so incredibly unimpressed by the prospect. “You want a cat.”

“I would like to discuss the possibility of getting a cat,” Lexa tells her dryly, and smirks when Clarke does nothing but quirk an eyebrow. “Cats are independent,” she explains, “less work.”

“Except the point of getting a pet,” Clarke responds quickly, “is to play with the damned thing. Dogs are better for that. More fun. More social. More involved.”

“More slobbery,” Lexa argues. “I do not want drool on my couch. I like to nap there sometimes.”

“And you want cat hair everywhere? You can train a dog not to get on the couch. You can’t train a cat.”

Lexa narrows her eyes, an expression that clearly says 'yeah, try me' but she bites her tongue. She rarely wins fights like this, always giving in to Clarke’s stubborn persistence.

“And I assume, of course, that rather than a pedigree you want some mutt from the pound with entirely questionable origins,” Lexa drawls.

Clarke smiles at her, expectant, and waits for her to crumble.

“God damn it.”

* * *

Barking reverberates off the concrete walls in varying volume and length - everything from the high pitched yap of a chihuahua to a soulful cry of a basset hound. For Lexa, it is a little overwhelming. Clarke bounces from cage to cage and gives each scoundrel their two minutes of fame, and Lexa follows her slowly with a grimace on her face.

By the third row of cages, each mutt looking worse for wear, Lexa isn’t able to tell what Clarke sees in them. Slobbery beasts that leave excrement and fur all over carpets, knocks things over, eats things they shouldn’t. It all just sounds like a nightmare. She weasels out of sight and ducks out of the lines of barking dogs and through a door where she recalls the cat room is located.

Lexa closes the door and leans against it, taking a deep breath as she calms. The barking is still there, loud, but it doesn’t bounce around in her head like a pinball. She finds herself alone with the cats as she catches their attention. The meowing begins and it’s much more tolerable. She steps up to each one, giving them special attention just as Clarke was doing with the hounds. She pets the ones that approach the front of their cage and speaks softly to those that do not want to investigate. A few are scared and huddled in the back of their cages behind makeshift litter boxes and old food but she attempts to coax them out anyway with a gentle voice.

She knows she won’t take any of them home - so perhaps she’s relieved when there isn’t one in particular that holds her fondness.

“Lexa?”

She looks up to see Clarke halfway through the door and Lexa tilts her head just a little.

“I was wondering where you went off to.”

“I couldn’t take the barking anymore,” she whispers, a voice low so she didn’t disturb the few cats that were sleeping. A little kitten in front of her had his paw out, swiping for attention. Lexa watches Clarke reach out and pet the grey fuzz ball.

“It is a little staggering.”

Clarke is quiet for a moment, looking at each purring and playful kitten. She doesn’t linger on each one for more than a few seconds, only speaks to a few, and doesn’t pet any others after the first but Lexa knows it’s an act.

“Come,” she beckons, reaching for Clarke’s hand and pulls her out of the room, “show me the ones you like best.”

Clarke nods and leads her to three different cages. A small brown dog that doesn't look like any breed in particular, a thin and lanky black retriever, and something with spots that isn't quite a dalmatian. They are able to take them out and walk them but Lexa devotes the practice little of her time while Clarke leads each one out to a secluded pen. When the dogs come close to her she pets them, but she is far more interested in watching Clarke’s face light up as she plays with each one.

Watching Clarke with each dog, her attention individual for each one, leaves a feeling in her stomach that Lexa cannot quite place. She turns from her wife - who is talking to a shelter volunteer - and moves a few cages down. It is irrational to feel jealousy over a dog - ridiculous that that it should bother her at all given how uninvested she really is with the idea of having a pet. Lexa likes animals but her heart does not bleed like Clarke’s, does not ache with a nurturing hand her partner so possesses. It is a part of what she loves about Clarke, and she would not change that for the world.

Lexa stops in front of a cage she thought empty, but starts when she realises a rough looking dog lies down in the corner. It looks young but scrappy, with patchy reddish brown fur. One ear stands up when the dog spots Lexa, and Lexa feels her own mouth twist with consideration.

“Wanna pet her?” an unfamiliar voice asks.

The volunteer appears seemingly out of nowhere. Lexa looks back to the dog that is sat upright, now, thumping its feathery tail against the wall. She nods and steps back, letting the attendant unlock the latch and open the door.

“She’s very sweet,” he tells her.

Lexa steps into the run and the young dog perks up a little more. She’s hesitant to approach and her eyes close when a hand reaches out slowly. The flinch does not go unnoticed and Lexa’s touch is gentle when she puts her fingers through the fur on the puppy’s head. The dog leans in to it but remains sitting, happy to be touched, and she nuzzles her face into the woman’s palm.

“How long has she been here?” she asks and the attendant leans back, peering at the sheet on the front of the cage.

“Six months,” he says, “she’s almost nine months old now.”

Lexa frowns. Six months in a cage? She glances up and peers through the chain link at all the dogs. Some were more eager than others and a few look defeated, similarly to the one she’s with now. Lexa slowly kneels down, giving the puppy her full attention. The dog’s head rests in her lap and she scratches behind it's ears. It's tail continues to thump against the ground and wall and Lexa doesn’t even notice the smile creeping up.

When she looks up, Clarke is looming at the cage door with the volunteer. She has a smile on her face and Lexa’s own slowly fades.

“Did you decide?” Lexa asks.

Clarke steps through and kneels down. The puppy in Lexa’s affection slinks around and lets Clarke pet her. She’s just as gentle, just as sweet, and Lexa’s fingers trail over the patchwork of fur along her back. Her skin flinches with the touch and she worries about it, but she’s just as eager to be touched by Clarke as she had been with Lexa.

“Yeah,” Clarke finally says as her fingers tangle in the dog’s ears. Her tail beats against Lexa’s legs. “This one.”


End file.
